I stood on the aft deck, rising and falling with the bounce of the boat, letting the cool night air slough off sleep. Pier 1 glowed like a Martian ship was about to land, but only stars spattered the sky. Our neighbors buzzed along the pier armed with a bevy of bare...
If chores built character, I’d be a twelve-year-old Mother Theresa. Today, on a perfect summer morning, I stood in Annie Lee’s porthole-less gloom washing last night’s marinara from Mom’s sailboat emblazoned Melmac. Fish bones floated in the dying suds, making me...
Sun winked off ice piled high as our T-shirt necks. Grins split our faces. Our knobby knees pumped full-tilt for the mound of “snow” the Canfields had scored at a Miami ice house, loaded into the back of a pickup, and dumped in the marina parking lot. ...
Sun winked off ice piled high as our T-shirt necks. Grins split our faces. Our knobby knees pumped full-tilt for the mound of “snow” the Canfields had scored at a Miami ice house, loaded into the back of a pickup, and dumped in the marina parking lot. The five of us...
Photo by Gonzalo Barr Miami must sound more romantic from Ohio than it does when your skin is actually sizzling in Johnson’s Baby Oil under the South Florida sun. I glanced at my cousin Di who re-upped for a second stint on the Annie Lee this summer. She laid tanning...
